


Madeira

by Python07



Series: Drunk Jean and Kittens [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, drunk jean, kitten fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Python07/pseuds/Python07
Summary: Young Armand and Jean -- It's late, there's another kitten, Jean's drunk, Armand's angry with him, and he just wants to get laid. -- sequel to Little Shit





	Madeira

“What about your friend?”

Belgard laughed as he sat at the card table. “Let him be.”

De Foix took two jugs of wire from the bar and nudged Jean playfully before he joined them. “Yeah, he’s having a fight with his secret lover.”

Jean sat hunched on his stool at the bar. He moodily stared down into his cup of wine. Then he drank and drank some more. He lost track of time and all of the voices around him just washed over him.

“You cheated!” the first voice yelled in outrage.

“Did not,” Belgard sing-songed back. “It’s all skill.”

Jean didn’t look over his shoulder at the group playing cards. He took a drink. He closed his eyes and tried not to remember. He didn’t want to remember how impressive Armand was at court today, the display of dazzling intellect and that damned smirk that never failed to send Jean’s blood flowing south.

There was the sound of a chair scraping against the stone floor and falling to the ground. “You cheated,” the first voice shouted even louder.

“I wouldn’t do that, friend,” De Foix answered with sweet menace.

Jean poured himself more wine while the outraged man spluttered nonsensical noises. He didn’t have to look to see De Foix barely touching the hilt of his sword. He didn’t have to look to see Belgard regarding the man as a hound would a fox. He sighed. He really didn’t give a shit.

“Please, Andre, sit down.” The new voice was slightly panicky.

“But,” Andre growled.

Jean shifted on his stool. Now that he remembered that smirk, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did that brilliant bastard have to be angry with him?

“They’re musketeers,” squeaky voice lamented. “Don’t be an idiot.”

De Foix’s laugh was most assuredly accompanied by a disdainful sneer. “Yeah, don’t be an idiot.”

Jean swirled the wine in his cup before he swiftly downed it. He poured himself another round. It didn’t stop the itch in his skin to touch Armand.

There was a rustle of the chair being picked up and weight deposited back on it. “Good man,” Belgard said, affable, but with a healthy dose of menace thrown in.

“Your luck is bound to change,” De Foix added in false cheer.

Jean drained his cup in three gulps. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He emptied the bottle but it only filled his cup a third of the way. He started looking around for the barman.

The barman stepped out of the back room behind the bar. He was a barrel-chested man and a head taller than Jean. His daughter trailed behind him. She touched his arm. “Please, Papa.”

Papa shook her off. “No, Marie.”

Jean waved for another bottle. Maybe if he got drunk enough, he could forget that smirk. He could forget what it felt like to have Armand under his hands, to worship him, to watch him come apart.

Marie was barely sixteen. She had a fresh face and freckles. She looked at her father with wide, earnest brown eyes. “Just give me a little more time, Papa. I can find a home for the last kitten.”

Papa set a fresh jug of wine before Jean. He turned back to Marie and patted her shoulder. “No one wants the runt of the litter and we can’t keep it. It would be a mercy to just drown it.”

Jean filled his cup and drained half of it. Suddenly, he remembered the night he found Little Shit. If he’d known then that it was a devil cat, he would’ve left it in the elements. The only person it liked was Armand. That wouldn’t matter if Little Shit just ignored him, but he’d lost count of how many times he’d been hissed at, scratched, and peed on. Plus, he was certain that cat was out to stop him from getting laid at every opportunity. 

How did that fucking cat know? Was it something about his scent? The tone of his voice? It was maddening and Armand, the bastard, just laughed at him.

Marie’s bottom lip trembled. “Papa, no.”

“Marie…” Papa’s voice trailed off. He smiled at her sadly and shook his head. “We can’t keep it and it would be cruel to abandon it.”

Still, Jean had to admit that Armand was grateful when he brought Little Shit home. He let Jean worship him for hours. He’d given himself to Jean completely. He’d been so beautiful. His pale skin glowed in the firelight and his eyes were a vivid, intoxicating blue.

The memory made Jean’s throat go dry. He couldn’t think. He swallowed thickly. His voice was gravelly and slurred. “I’ll take it.”

Papa blinked at him. “What?”

Marie gasped and clapped her hands. “Really?”

Jean downed his wine, deliberately planted his hands flat on the bar, and rose unsteadily to his feet. He nodded. “I’ll take the kitten.”

Papa rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

“Papa,” Marie pleaded.

Papa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Oh, let him take it,” De Foix called cheerfully. “He’s going to take it to his girl and hope she forgives him.”

“What makes you say that?” Marie asked, puzzled.

Belgard laughed, but it was harsh and guttural. “She must like cats. He’s always covered in cat hair after he’s been to see her.”

Papa peered at Jean’s face. “Are you sure?”

Jean slapped a few coins down on the bar. “Yes,” he slurred impatiently.

Papa nodded to and Marie ran to the back room. She returned a few minutes later with a white and gray kitten. She cradled it against her chest. She kissed its head before handing it over to Jean. “Please, be careful.”

Jean held the kitten in the palm of his hand. He held it up so he could see its eyes. “You’re not another devil cat, are you?”

“She’s sweet,” Marie put in.

Jean frowned as if waiting for an attack, but then nodded slowly. “All right. Let’s go, Madeira.”

“Madeira?” Marie asked.

Papa chuckled. “It’s what he’s been drinking all night.” 

Jean slipped the kitten under his shirt. She curled up against his skin while he stumbled out of the tavern. It was dark but, thankfully, it wasn’t raining.

He hummed under his breath as he slowly but surely made his way to Armand’s apartment. He grabbed the railing to haul himself up the familiar stairs to the familiar door.

He leaned against the doorway to catch his breath. He pounded on the door. “Armand!”

There was no response. Jean growled and continued knocking. “Armand!”

Finally, Armand opened the door an inch. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he hissed.

Jean laughed. Loudly. “No.”

“For heaven’s sake. Come in before you wake everyone.” Armand pulled Jean inside and closed the door. He didn’t face Jean. “What are you doing here?”

Jean looked around. It was dark and quiet, just like last time. Armand was dressed only in his nightshirt and barefoot, just like last time. The only light came from the fireplace. Little Shit was on his cushion in the corner by the fire. The black devil cat regarded Jean as if he was a pest.

Jean’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

Armand ran a weary hand through his hair. “You’re drunk.” He tried to brush past Jean. “It’s not safe for you to walk back to the garrison tonight. I’ll get you a pillow and you can sleep on the floor.”

Jean grabbed Armand’s arm. “Please,” he said desperately.

Armand finally faced Jean. “Jean?”

Even through the alcohol fog, Jean could read the pain and fatigue in Armand’s eyes. He let go of Armand’s arm only to gently cup his face. He kissed him softly. “I only came here to apologize,” he whispered against Armand’s lips. “And to give you something.”

Without seeming to realize it, Armand leaned against Jean. “What?”

Jean pulled away just enough to bring the kitten out from under his shirt. He smiled sheepishly. “Her name’s Madeira and I hope she has a sweeter temper than Little Shit.”

Armand cradled Madeira against his chest and stroked behind her ears. He chuckled warmly. “Would you like to tell him that he shouldn’t expect anything less when he names a cat Little Shit?”

“Well, he is,” Jean almost whined.

Little Shit lifted his head from where it had been resting on his paws. He rose to his feet gracefully and stretched. He circled around Armand’s feet.

Armand crouched down so Little Shit could see and sniff the newcomer. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”

If Jean didn’t know any better, he would’ve said Little Shit rolled his eyes. Little Shit shot Jean a fleeting look as if to say that perhaps he wasn’t so stupid all the time. Then Little Shit bumped Armand’s elbow with his nose and tried to crawl into Armand’s arms too.

Armand cuddled both cats before setting them both down in front of the fire. He straightened up and turned back to face Jean. The shadows in his eyes were gone, at least for the time being. “This is becoming a habit.”

Jean stepped closer. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

Armand smiled softly. “Yes.”

Jean rested his hands on Armand’s hips and pressed against him. He leaned in to trail his lips along Armand’s jaw. “I gave you a furball. Now, can we get naked?”

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, drunk Jean is becoming a thing.


End file.
